Midnight Randomness

I am not sure if anybody except for me is going to read this, and honestly I have been so out of touch with blogging, that I have forgotten how to make the posts private. Its midnight, and I have a roommate who cannot sleep with the lights on, so now I can't use my diary to write what I am feeling, (not that I regularly am able to express what I am feeling to my diary, she has not seen my face since the last time I was anxious about just another something completely as random as today).

So yesterday, I fell off the stairs and injured my foot. Good part - no fracture, but too much pain, could not walk, so had to stay at home and the bad part - too much time to worry about the most insignificant things in life. Its dangerous for a pessimist to have nothing else to do but think. Well, while I was too tired being worried over "what the fuck am I doing with my life (and doing nothing to change it at all)", I switched to think about "what the fuck is everyone doing with the world (however there are some people who are trying to change it)." Now, in the two days, I have read about the symptoms of coronavirus (COVID - 19), ways to prevent the same and what are the numbers that are going to be affected before it can be contained successfully. The economic times has written, "The great unknown is what will happen along the way. Doing the sums can produce alarming figures. The best estimates so far suggest that Covid-19 kills about 1% of people it infects. That number may go up somewhat or fall significantly; either way it could add up to a dreadful toll. If 60% of the world’s population is ultimately infected, as suggested by Gabriel Leung, chair of public health medicine at Hong Kong University, a 1% fatality rate would kill almost 50 million people". So, whilst a lot of people have died already, many more will die and the vaccine is difficult to develop as the scientists are having a tougher time to establish which animal really transmitted this zoonotic disease. Hopefully, summers will be a better time, and the heat would curb the virus from spreading. However, nothing stops my mind from thinking about the Book of Revelation and that this could be the end of the world. I am spiritual, yes very much. And I do believe the world has gone to the dogs, so yes maybe this is the end. The world was going to end in 2020 earlier, now maybe it will end in 2050 or maybe it will never end, and this is a fear tactic to correct the wrongs we've been doing, just like in school.

Now, why am I writing this? Cause there are two things coming to my head right now, first, what can I do to make this world a better place? And how can I help avoid people from dying. There is a thing about people with low-self esteem, they feel insignificant and useless even in the circumstances they rarely can be of any help. The second question that comes to my mind is that the things we do everyday, to attempts we make to make a better life for ourselves, what is it going to eventually yield, if the end is so close and obvious. There is a thing about lazy people, the only opportunity they do not let go off is that when they do not act at all.

Ok this helps. Thanks. Good Night!

Lost

She sat on the corner of a wooden plank alongside of the river bed, facing the sinking sun. Her bare feet immersed in the water, she stared into the depth of the river with absolute blank expressions. Though it did look like she was thinking, not a millions things, but only one.

In the darkening twilight, nature's silence left the character of being serene and started to become haunting. Any usual person would have begun their return journey, but there she sat, as still as a grave, like she had nowhere to go to, with her fists clenching the plank so tight as if she was trying to control her anger, restrain the outburst of emotions.

He walked towards the place where she had been sitting now for an hour. "Sarah", he called. Without an essence of startlement on being torn apart from that awful silence, she turned, un-amazed.

She was beautiful, and her eyes seemed to have soaked all the colour from the water she had been staring at, they were that Blue. He held her hands, making her stand and spoke in length about how badly he wanted her back. He apologised while he could see she had started to cry. Tears had begun to leave trails of Kohl on her cheek. "Sarah, say something", he begged after he had nothing left to say. Her small round lips, opened and closed, but not a word cam out. Was she too weak to speak or didn't feel the need anymore, or maybe she was numb to feel any of it.

She turned around. While she walked into the darkness, the meagre moonlight could only touch rare exposed parts of her body and that little light glistened to speak of her new desires to be lost.  

Write, Please!

Looking back in time, where writing was so much easier, I only wish I could be the old “not so self-conscious” me. That was the time I wrote only for myself and that pressure of my write-up being appreciated by the public did not exist. I used to finish a story, re-read a few times and was satisfied with whatever little creativity my brain had come up with. And as I grew, grew the audience; friends noticed my scribbles and I was encouraged to change the privacy settings of my blog to: Public!

Now guess what was the first thing that happened after the stories I wrote were no longer a secret? Well! I started reading them with someone else’s perspective, and I didn’t like them like before. I thought they were mediocre and nothing to boast on a social platform. So I took my posts off the net (I have them in hardcopy, not much lost). I started reading a lot to improvise my imagination, to build a fancy vocabulary (which I don’t have till date) and to write in a way that attracted greater social applause. Reading others made it more hopeless, “there are so many of them, all better writers, nobody will like what I write” is a summary of what went in my head. And that’s when I lost me. I wrote little, decorated with whatever I found was trending and posted only after couple of people had approved of it. Since then I have been trying to come out of the lust to impress people (not ONLY because I failed at it).

So why am I writing this? Because I believe I am not the only one who went through this. Anybody can write, everyone must write, it’s a stress-buster and clears your head like nothing else can. Write for yourself, and if you seek for appreciation, one day you will find the right audience (Me motivating me).       

Purpose of Reading

Why do you read?

I have met so many people who are interested in reading. Some even have libraries of their own. But it's so difficult to find the same books in the personal library of even two people. Each of us have a genre preference. Everybody reads with a different purpose. I respect people who have the patience to read the classics. I also believe they comprehend beyond those words, just the way our literature professors explained the instances in a completely different sense than what it meant to us. They have the ability to read the minds of the author. Perhaps, a well-read has discovered by comparing various readings the real meaning behind the expressions used by the writer. But why read what was written ages ago, why read stories of people who never existed?

Moving away from the classics and talking about the modern fiction, my favourite kind! Because I belong to this category, I believe we read to escape. We read as we are dissatisfied with the reality. How miserably we want all that we read to be true, or to be a part of that world where it exists. Books become the source of imagination. The readers obviously draw inspiration from the imaginary stories building in their heads as they read the treasure between their hands. It's indeed a challenge to think about the impossible happening as described by the writer, who using his exceptional mathematical literature draws a legitimate connection between all the occurrences that it all appears authentic. Now, a lot of people aren't very fond of the paranormal fiction, because it's all very unreal for them. Which is true, it's an escape, it's another world, and so many times it gives the strength to face the real one. Again, why do we read? 

Biographies are supposed to be plain, I like plain. They give you an insight in the lives of people who had the strength to become a person who'll have to state incidents of their life to inspire other people. But do people who read biographies start living upon the principles of these famous personalities? If yes, is that why you read? If not, why did you read?

It sounds naive, but I hate the self-help books. I've often been told that the people who have biographies must have read and applied what was stated in the self-help books. I've not read many, but from whatever I did, I only gathered what I already knew. It's all within me and I don't need to read to bring them in practice. It doesn't work out that way. Reading positive quotes, guidelines for living life, etc., does not bring any instant change, neither does it have a lot term effect. I know what's wrong and isn't supposed to be done/felt, and reading about the same thing will not entice me into living my life the way they describe it should be. Maybe it actually helps a lot of people, but how? And if not, why do they sell?

So many other categories, so many different type of readers. The same sentence might mean so differently to different people. Everybody reads with a different intent. The intent decides the genre they will read.

Why do you read? Pleasure? But how?... Escape? Really?...Help? Does it?...Information? How much?...

Encounters Continued

The silence between the two was meddled by irregular hammering at the mechanic’s shop. She took out her mobile and gasped to see 7 missed calls from home, unable to catch signal she turned towards him. She tried to get a look of his face, failing to gather his attention she called out, “Excuse me”? He looked perturbed, like disturbed from a deep meditation. While asking for his cell phone she tried her best to figure out the possible reasons of his melancholy.

She keyed in her mother’s number and waited for her to pick up. There was no answer, disconnecting the phone she checked the time to realize her mother must have slept already assuming she might be working another late night. She held the phone in his direction to see he had closed his eyes. The subtle stern expression had started to transform, he was unable to hold it any longer. She could sense it was her fault of having taken him off the zone of numbness by disturbing him. A tear rolled out from the corner of his closed eyes visible from her side. She could not figure out at all what would be the best suitable reaction for this time. Looking away for a while she decided to talk to him but could not pick herself the best way to get the conversation started.

All of a sudden she spoke, “you know my father died of cancer last year”. That confession made him jump a little from in the inside. He opened his eyes, felt sorry for the loss but was unsure of the ways to react to such an event. He was left confused by a stranger telling him the most painful feeling in their life. Before he could console her about it, she spoke again. “I cried because it was not in my hands, I believe and hope what you are worried about does not need tears but actions. The watery eyes will only haze the picture of future you dream for yourself. There are certain times in life you need to let go of the attachments pulling you down so as to realize your potentials to the full.”

Aghast! She spoke everything he already knew. The same old rusted philosophies, but it made sense. In that moment he felt the strength to move forward in life. The monotonic tone in which she said all the big words made it even more impactful. Just then the mechanic informed that the car couldn’t be repaired until tomorrow. She panicked a little only to be assured by him that he’d drop her after he gets his scooter. Finally she heard him speak. His pain attracted her in a completely absurd manner as if somebody had challenged her to make him smile. She spoke about everything she could think of, every little curl in his lips, every time he took off his constant gaze from the puddle to look at her, were like giving her points in some life game.

He got his scooter, they drove to her place. The ride was a silent one; she had placed her hands on his shoulders and kept staring in the darkness trying to figure out the reason for change in the way her heart had been beating! They pulled over at her place. This was an extremely difficult moment for her. She could not just let him go without the hopes of seeing him again. Without a second thought she invited him to come inside. This now meant a life changing leap for him. He had decided to start afresh being motivated by her, and it would have been just perfect having alongside a companion who wanted nothing else but your happiness.

He could not say no, and so he turned around without a word, powered the engine and went off. There was so much he needed to correct in his life, so much to move away from, so much to sort. Unsure he would even be able to ever move on effectively, he decided not to drag her into all the mess and make her suffer. He had decided to unboard the present broken boat not to catch a similar another, but to swim alone along the tides, empowering himself. And just when he made that decision, the tides got low, the water became appropriately calm!

P.S. Choosing right over wrong is important than choosing happiness. Mending the present things in life is important than moving away with a new opportunity leaving the past ignored. Happiness cannot be sought only in the presence of a companion, solitude has its own perks.

Encounters

Since morning he wasn't having the best day, sour milk and burnt toast  had only been the beginning. After the bad breakfast, he pulled out his scooter to find a water-clogged road due to heavy downpour and adding to it's damage was the broken sewage system. He anyhow managed to pull out the scooter spoiling his pants which had become wet upto to his knee length, and the shoes, well he had walked bare-footed for the love of his new leather shoes!

It was expected that the traffic would be huge, that is the usual affair for the monsoons in Delhi. By the time he reached his office all other colleagues had taken their places in their respective cubicles. The only appealing thing about his job was that his boss, unlike others, was very compassionate and did not fuss. Even if you were late and had reasonable explanation for the same, you were to be easily excused. Since being late was not the reason of his worry, the tensed face could be assumed as a cause of the newly allotted project on which he had had a very poor lead. He headed straight to his desk, opened his laptop and immersed himself into the screen.

He did not get up for lunch, the urges to take smoke breaks had been subdued by the work-load and deadline pressure. Finally when he got out of the chair it was almost dark. The sun was setting and the clouds were huddling together to shed themselves over the city for another night. With half a heart, he took out his phone, and without any amusement put it back inside his pocket on having zero calls and messages. Not that he did not have anybody to call him, but that one person had been very cold and ignorant since the last few months.The causes were unknown, he had tried talking to her but nothing yielded out of all those conversations. She had made excuses of distances and accused him instead. Everybody around knew what hard time he was undergoing through, but as he had intentionally distanced himself from others they believed he needed his own space for a while.

As he dragged his scooter out of the parking which had refused to start, he was enveloped in a sheath of numbness. The inability to feel the series of negative events occurring one of after another left him with a straight face while he headed towards a mechanic shop. It had been raining profusely. After having dropped his vehicle for repairing he sat on a bench placed opposite to the shop. The rain didn't seem to bother him and he kept staring at the puddle on the road which was growing in volume. He was forced to raise his head by a striking light reflection in the puddle, hoping it was his scooter's headlight, to his dismay it was not, rather it came from another car being pulled by a mechanic truck. Any boy in his age would have been enthrilled to see what he saw there, but he only bowed his head down again to stare back at the dampness of the roads. The towed car was pulled off and from it stepped down a girl. In her office clothes she appeared to be an extremely strong woman, but all the sturdy factors could not hide her obvious alluring feminine beauty. Her heels had made up for the few inches she was short of, but the rest of the body figure was just perfect.

While waiting for her car to be repaired, she came and sat on the only bench the, the one on the opposite of the shop, she sat there next to him...

(To be Continued...)

(P.S. I so wanted those lights to be that of a spaceship and not another stupid car.)

And the Magic Begins!

THE HARRY POTTER CRAZY

Harry Potter has meant everything to me. This book, that I have literally grown up with, never fails to amaze me everytime I re-read it. There have been so many philosophies that can be assumed to be true due to the very intelligent linking up of facts from one plot to another. People call t fantasy, but I learnt a lot from it. Every character in the novel teaches a whole different way of living. I know this might sound very crazy (learning from a fiction purely written to entertain people), but I believe apart from the magical saga, the emotions and actions of each character were so impactful and worth drawing an experience from. I admire all the inspiring things Dumbledore had to say, and those very less but extremely important advices given by Sirius. I can read the novel over and over, and every time find a new something to praise about and be astonished upon. I have met people who haven't read or seen the movies, I really think they are missing an extremely important story in their lives. And for those who have read/seen and are not so fond of, I'd only say that everybody has a separate taste and I would love to know what they appreciate if not this.

I do not a have a creative side, but I have this habit of experimenting myself for even those activities i know I won't succeed in performing. And thus, I made this sketch, an evidence of the experiment. Evidence that speaks loud and clear that am a proud HP fan, Always!